


#assholeboyfriends

by punkpixieprince



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:45:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpixieprince/pseuds/punkpixieprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You live your life thinking that your money and your family and everything you do on the outside will make you seem <i>threatening</i> and give you <i>power</i>. But the great thing about magic is that none of that <i>actually matters</i>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	#assholeboyfriends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flyingthesky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingthesky/gifts).



> HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY, REILI. For those of you not in the know, this is ‘the one where Mark and Eduardo are Slytherin asshole boyfriends’ and that’s it, that’s the fic. And yes, I am aware that Slytherin is not Eduardo (or Chris’) “real house” (and Gryffindor isn’t Sean Parkers); unfortunately for you, [Reili wanted #assholeboyfriends](https://twitter.com/flyingthesky/status/284440255233421312), so that’s what I wrote. If you want a Hogwarts AU isn’t this; idk, write it yourself.
> 
> [Originally posted [here](http://tehcrzy1.livejournal.com/16666.html) on 2/14/12.]

Contrary to popular belief (or, at least, the popular belief that seemed to run rampant throughout the idiotic masses Mark was forced to call his peers), Slytherins were not all friends.

In some cases, there were family feuds that went back for centuries. Mark only had a hazy idea as to why all Gates hated all Jobs and vice versa, but he knew it was an immutable fact, even when a boy from each family had ended up in Slytherin twenty years before. Conversely, there were the family loyalties, blood ties that ran deeper than mere friendship, brotherhood pacts that a non-pure-blood (or, at least, a wizard not raised in pure-blood society) would never quite understand, like the Winklevii and their constant shadow, Narendra.

And sometimes, two Slytherins just did not get along.

***

The thing was, Eduardo Saverin was an asshole.

If that was all, Mark would’ve been fine with it, because _most_ of his friends were assholes (except maybe Dustin, but being the exception to the rule was sort of Dustin’s status quo). Eduardo Saverin, however, was the particular brand of arrogant asshole who thought they were better than everyone else, and was honestly surprised if someone disagreed.

He cared about _reputation_ , and _pure-blood honour_ , and something about the _righteousness of the House_ , which was usually where Mark started to tune him out.

Mark didn’t _care_ about his reputation or his honour or if Slytherin was the best House (it obviously was, but Mark didn’t need go to around _talking_ about it constantly). None of those things _mattered_ , not really, but Saverin couldn’t see that, and it annoyed Mark to no end.

When Mark had been a first year, he’d desperately wanted the rest of the Slytherins to accept him, and it wasn’t until he was a third year that he realised no amount of brilliance was ever going to sway people who were so set on money and status and the calibre of another person’s blood.

People like Eduardo Saverin.

So he’d given up, and focused on his studies, and tried to master wordless spells and NEWT-level Transfigurations (along with taking every class he could) by the end of his fifth year, goals which Chris kept telling him were going to get him killed from magical exhaustion. Or at least give him poor marks on his OWLS.

“I’ll be fine,” Mark said dismissively.

“Just like you were fine back when you created the Catalogue,” Chris replied, referring to the magical search-based Library Catalogue that Mark had devised the year before. It allowed students to look up general terms (like, say, ‘potions that will use up the two pounds of newt eyes my mother sent me’) and directed them to the relevant books.

Mark had spent two weeks in the hospital because he had forgotten to eat or sleep in the days leading up to actually casting the final spells.

He rolled his eyes. “This isn’t the same thing,” he said.

“Right,” Chris said, “This sounds like an even stupider plan.”

Mark ignored him, staring at his book bag across the room. _Accio bag_ , he thought. _Accio bag, Accio bag, Accio bag…_

“Zuckerberg!” one of the Winklevii towered over him, breaking his concentration. Mark glared. The bag hadn’t moved an inch.

“ _What._ "

“You looked constipated,” the Winklevoss brother said, and Mark decided that it was probably Tyler. “Anyway,” he continued dismissively, “my brother and I were thinking, and we wondered if you wanted to help us with a project we’ve been working on.”

Mark raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything.

“Div here,” probably-Tyler gesticulated, and oh, of course, there was Narendra, “said you’re the best in the school when it comes to Charms, even if you’re just a fifth year. Practically a Ravenclaw.”

Mark shrugged. He understood what Almost-Definitely-Tyler thought was a veiled insult; it wasn’t the first time someone had accused him of not being a Slytherin, nor would it be the last. Mark just didn’t really _care_.

“You created the Catalogue as a fourth year,” Narendra said. “You’re talented and inventive.”

“Where’s your brother?” Mark asked Tyler. Tyler leaned back, which unfortunately just made him look taller from Mark’s perspective, but Mark refused to stand up. Standing up would imply an importance they didn’t have.

“He’s at Quiddich practice,” Tyler said after a moment.

“Shouldn’t you also be at Quiddich practice?” Mark asked. Chris, who was still sitting across from Mark and being pointedly ignored (usually, seventh years didn’t give fifth years the time of _day_ ), didn’t outright snort, but he was definitely smirking.

“I pulled a muscle in my arm, and Saverin was worried that if I continued to practice, I’d hurt our chances during the game tomorrow—why do you care? Do you even go to Quiddich games?”

 _Sometimes_ , Mark thought, _if I have a reason_. He usually didn’t.

“If you and your brother are going to ask me to work with you, it would make sense if you were both here,” Mark said. Tyler frowned; Mark supposed he hadn’t expected any resistance. When a pure-blood said jump, they were used to people asking them how high.

“It’s a simple enough offer,” Tyler said. “We’ve realised that here at Hogwarts, the school, while great in many ways, is missing some… key social aspects.”

“What Tyler’s trying to say is that last year was the first actual party Hogwarts has seen since the Dark Ages,” Narendra said.

“You want a spell to help plan parties,” Mark translated. Chris really _did_ snort, this time.

“No,” Tyler said irritably, “We want a spell—”

“Or a book,” Narendra interjected, “if that’s your… singular area of expertise.” Mark narrowed his eyes, and Narendra smirked.

“Or a book,” Tyler said, “that connects students with other students. A networking tool. To… secure future prospects.”

Mark had been a Slytherin for long enough to understand what _that_ meant.

“You want a Slytherin dating system?” he asked. “How is that different than what you already do?” Pure-blood families had a rich tradition of bowing and scraping and marrying themselves off to the most eligible second-cousin.

Tyler glared. “This one would be run by _us_ ,” he said pointedly. “And it would… leave a greater freedom. A freedom that many students would leap at a chance for.”

Mark didn’t know if he meant to date people from other houses, or to date non-pure-bloods. Either way, he didn’t really care. The last thing he wanted to do was devise some weird dating service for pure-bloods, and then give it to the _Winklevii_.

But the idea of a _networking_ tool—a real one, not just about dating, and not just for Hogwarts, that was too simple. But something beyond owls and Floo powder and two-way mirrors, something easy to access that lent itself to instant communication…

 _That_ sounded interesting.

“I’ll think about it,” Mark said.

***

“Dustin,” Mark said.

“Marky-Mark,” Dustin replied promptly, beaming at him as Mark sat down at the Hufflepuff table. He ignored the immediate whispers that sprung up; a person would think the rest of the school would be used to Mark hanging out with his friends at other tables. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“What do muggles do to communicate over long distances?” he asked. “They obviously can’t Floo each other, but they don’t use owls either.”

Dustin laughed. “Aren’t you taking Muggle Studies?”

“We’re focusing on the 18th century right now,” Mark said. “I want to know what muggles do _today_. Unless they still use letters carried by messengers on horseback.”

“Only on super special occasions,” Dustin said, and Mark was pretty sure he was joking. “But mostly we call each other. Or email, or something.”

Mark stared at Dustin blankly.

“You know what a telephone is, right?” Dustin asked.

“Yes,” Mark snapped. He didn’t, actually; Mark was a half-blood in name and blood only. He’d been raised in the Wizarding World, and the last time he’d seen his muggle cousins had been the memorable occasion where his mother had tried to make amends, and had invited everyone over during Passover. Mark, who’d been eight at the time, had accidentally turned his aunt blue.

Needless to say, they hadn’t returned.

“It’s a device made of wires and things,” Dustin said, because he knew Mark was lying. “If two people have one, they can call each other over great distances and talk. It uses electricity,” Dustin added.

“I don’t care,” Mark said, mind whirling. Devices that everyone had that connected them all together. Could he somehow tweak a location spell? Or maybe a modified _Sonorus_? Maybe both together—

“Zuckerberg.”

Mark was getting really tired of people interrupting him when he was trying to concentrate.

“Saverin,” Mark said, looking up. Saverin had his arms crossed, and he looked like he was _pouting_.

“What are you doing over here?” Saverin asked. Mark blinked at him.

“Eating lunch,” he said.

“You’re not a Hufflepuff,” Saverin said.

“So?”

“You can’t sit here.”

“Well,” Mark said, “I obviously am, so that’s blatantly untrue.”

“You know what I mean,” Saverin said impatiently. “You’re a _Slytherin_.”

“Most of your friends don’t seem to think so,” Mark said. It was a bit of a stretch, maybe, to call Saverin _friends_ with the Winklevii, but they were cut from the same pure-blood cloth.

Saverin suddenly looked _concerned_ , which was ridiculous.

“That’s stupid,” he said. “Of course you’re a Slytherin.”

Mark opened his mouth, but he honestly had no idea what to say to that. After a moment, he finally replied, “Well, I’m staying here. With my friend,” Mark added, because he could.

Dustin smiled and waved, completely unperturbed by the amount of Slytherins surrounding him. The rest of his House had already inched away.

Saverin pressed his lips together. “You need better friends,” he told Mark shortly, before stomping off.

“Nice guy,” Dustin said dryly.

“He’s an asshole,” Mark said.

“Dude, _you’re_ an asshole,” Dustin said. “You like, made Erica cry and shit.”

“Yeah, well,” Mark shrugged uncomfortably, “at least I know I’m an asshole.”

“Whatever, man,” Dustin said. “He’s hot, at least.”

“I don’t think you’re his type,” Mark said dryly.

“Nah, I’m too much of a nasty, dirty-blooded Hufflepuff. And, you know, straight. _You_ might be his type, though.”

“I don’t want to be his type,” Mark said. “Tell me about telephones.”

“Wow, you’re about as subtle as a _mountain troll_ ,” Dustin said, but he launched into a conversation about telephones anyway.

***

Though Mark didn’t really put much stock into muggle ‘electricity’, he had to admit the idea of a device that a person could carry around and connect themselves with other people had merit. It seems a lot easier than apparition, at least.

“There’s a lot you could do with it,” Mark told Chris. “We could make it so people who didn’t even know each other before could connect—a true networking spell. It’d have to have some sort of origin, something to _centre_ the devices, but in theory—”

“Zuckerberg!” Mark was getting _really_ tired of being interrupted. “ _Zuckerberg!_ ”

“What do you _want_ , Saverin?” Mark crossed his arms and turning slightly. Saverin was standing by the now-closing wall to the outside corridor, clearly having just entered the Common Room.

“Is it true you’re friends with _Parker_?”

“Sean Parker?” Mark asked, clarifying. “I suppose.” Sean was useful; he was fantastic at Charms, which was why they were friends in the first place (Mark had impressed him with the Catalogue),,and the way he spoke, the way he _understood_ the Wizarding World, would be invaluable when it came to actually implementing Mark’s design.

“He’s a _Gryffindor_ ,” Saverin said. He looked _furious_. Mark rolled his eyes.

“He’s intelligent,” Mark said.

“There are more important things,” Saverin replied.

“Like what?” Mark asked. “Nobility? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a pure-blood. Your ‘nobility’ has nothing to do with me. I’m not a part of your fancy little club.”

“Being a Slytherin is more about blood-status,” Saverin said.

“Really,” Mark said dryly, “tell me more.”

“Gryffindor’s are all a bunch of one-track-minded, paranoid, idiotic, saviour-complex _assholes_ who think that the lion on their chest makes them better than everyone else,” Saverin said.

“…I didn't actually want to hear more of your drivel,” Mark said, “though by that definition, it sounds like I’m not the only one who was Sorted into the wrong House.”

Mark had half-expected the curse, and he ducked as a flash of red light flew over his head. Something over the fireplace shattered; Mark drew his wand.

“ _Confundo_ ,” Saverin snapped.

“ _Protego_ ,” Mark said calmly, “ _Flippendo_.”

Saverin wasn’t quite fast enough with his shield, and he flew backwards.

“ _Locomotor Mortis_!” he snarled, sitting up and pushing the bystanders out of the way. Mark felt his legs lock together, and almost fell over. He gripped the edge of the couch to prevent himself from falling over, and raised his wand. “ _Pe—_ ”

“ _Finite Incantatem_ ,” a cold voice interrupted, and Saverin winced, paling. Mark, his legs no longer frozen together, really _did_ topple over.

“…Professor,” Mark greeted Professor Snape from the floor. Snape curled his lip at him.

“What,” Snape asked slowly, “is going on here?”

“Zuckerberg and I were having a… disagreement, sir,” Saverin said.

“I do not tolerate _disagreements_ in my Common Room,” Snape said. “Twenty points from Slytherin. _Each_.”

“Sir—!”

“Would you also like a detention, Mr Saverin?” Snape asked.

“...No, sir,” Saverin said.

“Very well,” Snape said, and like that, he was gone.

Mark looked up at Saverin. Saverin stared back. There was blood trickling down his face.

“You might want to get Pomfrey to check that out,” Mark said. Saverin narrowed his eyes and spun around, stalking down the long hallway that led toward the boy’s dormitory.

“Well,” Chris said, “that was exciting,”

***

“So I heard you got into a fight,” was the first thing Dustin said to Mark the next day.

“How did you hear that?” Mark asked.

“I have my sources,” Dustin said, waggling his eyebrows.

“You mean Chris told you,” Mark guessed. Dustin pouted.

“Yes, fine,” he said with a sniff. “So? What the heck, Mark? This guy really gets under your skin, huh?”

“No,” Mark said. “I don’t _care_.”

“You don’t care about most people,” Dustin said. “I don’t see you getting into duels with _them_.”

“He started it,” Mark said.

“That’s not what I heard,” Dustin said. “Dude, I heard you called him a _Gryffindor_. Even _I_ know not to call a Slytherin a Gryffindor, or vice versa, no matter how proud you all act.”

“Well,” Mark said defensively, “it’s not _my_ fault he acts like one.”

“I don’t think Gryffindors care much about blood purity,” Dustin said.

“Not just about that,” Mark said dismissively. “The other stuff.”

“What other stuff? The ‘Mark is mine and no one else can touch him’ stuff? Because, man, that is the only stuff I’ve noticed about the guy, like, at all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mark said.

“I’m not,” Dustin replied.

“ _Dustin_ ,” Mark said.

“Whatever,” Dustin said, shaking his head. “You’re both unreasonable, it’s terrible. Try not to kill each other, okay?”

***

That was more easily said than done. Within three weeks, Mark and Saverin had gotten into four more fights, had been forced to serve joint Saturday detentions for two weeks in a row, and had lost their House a collective of 75 points.

Their enmity for each other became so renowned students started betting on everything from ‘who was going to get expelled first’ and—

“Chris and I have our own pool regarding when you’re going to start making out,” Dustin informed Mark cheerfully.

“You’re both going to lose,” Mark replied flatly.

“Sure, Mark,” Dustin said, patting him on the shoulder. “Whatever you say.”

“I don’t like him,” Mark said. “I _don’t_.”

***

And Mark _didn’t_ like Saverin; he fundamentally disagreed with him about practically everything, he was a pretentious douchebag, and everything Saverin genuinely cared about—social status, money, House ‘values’, his family’s approval—Mark couldn’t care _less_ about. Which was why his best friend was a muggleborn Hufflepuff.

“But he’s a mudblood. And a _Hufflepuff_.” But, of course, Saverin _did_.

“He’s also one of the most creative wizards in the school. He’s useful.” And a good friend, but that wasn’t the point of the argument.

“What use is a _mudblood_?” Saverin asked.

“Growing up with muggles can have its advantages,” Mark said with a shrug. “It makes you realise the tremendous gift magic is, which helps you work to understand it more fully. That’s what my mother says, at least.”

Saverin froze. “…Oh,” he said.

Mark smirked. “Not going to insult my mother, Saverin?” he asked.

“I don’t even know your mother,” Saverin pointed out.

“She’s a mudblood,” Mark said, as if Saverin (and the rest of their House) didn’t already know.

Saverin looked distinctly uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t say that about your own mother,” he said.

“I don’t,” Mark replied, “but plenty of other people do.”

“Mark,” Saverin said, sounding miserably guilty, and Mark snorted. Since when were they on first name basis? “Just ignore them,” Saverin continued.

“I don’t care,” Mark said, even though he did. His House’s blind hatred of his mother and people like her had always stung; especially since while Randi, and even his father, had treated him like he had dragonpox when they'd found out he was sorted into Slytherin, his mother had always been completely accepting of him.

“Why do you?” he asked Saverin, and Saverin frowned.

“They’re insulting you. And your family.”

“So?”

Saverin stared at him, and it slowly dawned on Mark that Saverin actually _believed_ in that ‘Slytherin honour’ and ‘stand together’ crap he was constantly on about.

“You’re better than them,” Saverin said finally. “And you’re smarter.”

“Obviously,” Mark said.

Eduardo smiled. 

***

“Are you dating yet?”

“ _No_.”

“Good, because today was what Chris bet. I figured you’d take a little bit longer, but hurry it up, yeah? If you don’t get together soon, I’m gonna owe Eldridge five galleons.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Marky-Mark.”

***

Mark was seriously considering using his Time Turner to go back in time and _punch himself in the face_ for deciding to take all of these classes.

He felt like he was going to drop dead any second, and he stared miserably at his Ancient Runes textbook. He was incredibly close to getting up and throwing the book in the fire across the room, and he _liked_ Ancient Runes.

“…doing fine!”

“You could do _better_.”

Mark jumped. He’d been focused on studying in the corner of the Common Room, the pile of his books preventing him from noticing who else was in the room (and, in return, obscuring him from view).

He thought the common room was empty, but apparently not.

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder.”

 _Eduardo_ , Mark thought. Oh.

“Father,” Eduardo said. “I’m doing well in classes. I’m making friends—”

“You have not made the _right_ friends, Eduardo,” Eduardo’s father replied. “I have not been contacted by the Winklevosses, or the Lees. I thought you were dating the Lee girl?”

“I was,” Eduardo started, “but she—”

“You have _disappointed_ me,” Eduardo’s father replied. “Do not call again until you have done better.”

There was a tell-tale _whoosh_ of a Floo-fire extinguishing, and then silence.

Mark slowly unclenched his fists and stood up.

Eduardo jumped when he noticed Mark, and Mark, who was so used to seeing the mask—because that’s what it was, Mark wasn’t _stupid_ —was nonetheless startled when he saw how _raw_ and _sad_ Eduardo looked.

“Hey,” Mark said quietly, because he had no idea what else there was to say.

“Sorry,” Eduardo mumbled, “I didn’t realise, sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Mark said quickly. “You’re fine.”

“Yeah.” Eduardo gave him a broken, half-crazed smile. “Okay.”

“I’m going to bed,” Mark said, grabbing his books haphazardly.

“Let me help,” Eduardo said.

“I’ve got it,” Mark insisted, but Eduardo reached forward and grabbed the top two books anyway.

“How are you taking all these classes?” Eduardo asked.

“Magic,” Mark answered, which was technically the truth. Eduardo let out a watery chuckle.

“Of course,” he said. He was silent for a moment, as Mark finished gathering his things and they walked down the gloomy corridor that lead to their shared dormitory.

“Mark,” Eduardo started quietly, “about my father—”

“Eduardo,” Mark interrupted, “I already said it’s fine.”

“I know,” Eduardo said. “I just—”

“You’re not,” Mark said. “You’re not a disappointment.”

“ _Mark_ ,” Eduardo said, shocked.

“You’re kind of an asshole,” Mark continued, “but you’re smart. And you… you care. About things. Stupid things, but still. You’re not a disappointment, and you’re not a terrible person.”

“I thought you thought I was a Gryffindor,” Eduardo joked weakly.

“Things change,” Mark said shortly, pushing the door open to their dormitory.

“Yeah,” Eduardo whispered.

***

“Mark, hi!” Eduardo said, sounding genuinely surprised to see him. Mark was wrapped up in his winter cloak, two scarves, ear muffs, and a pair of mittens. Chris had been genuinely worried about Mark’s health when he’d announced he was going outside for an extended period of time. Mark had scoffed at Chris as he'd been forcibly bundled into all of the outerwear clothes he owned; now he just wished he was wearing something other than shorts and flip-flops under his robes, and that he'd thought to cast a warming charm earlier. “Did you watch the match?”

“Yes,” Mark said shortly, rocking back and forth outside of the Slytherin changing room. His teeth were chattering.

“Are you okay?” Eduardo asked.

“I’m fine,” Mark said.

“You look cold,” Eduardo said. “It’s freezing out here,” he added.

“Yes,” Mark said.

“You should go back to the dungeons,” Eduardo said, frowning, “and warm up.”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” Mark said. Eduardo blinked, and then smiled brightly. Mark’s breath caught. Eduardo should really smile more often, in Mark’s opinion. He was pretty sure that Eduardo’s smiles had some sort of magical property that radiated warmth and sunshine, because for a moment, Mark barely felt the cold.

“You can congratulate me at the party,” Eduardo said. “Go on, before you die of frostbite.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Mark asked.

“I’ll be right there, promise,” Eduardo said, ducking back into the changing room. Mark smiled slightly, at _nothing_ , which was clearly ridiculous, before turning around and heading back to the castle.

Someone had other plans, however, and was standing in front of him, blocking the path.

“Zuckerberg,” Tyler Winklevoss said. “Long time no see.”

“Winklevoss,” Mark acknowledged. “Where’s your… friend?”

“Busy,” Tyler said.

“I don’t care about your project,” Mark said, as if not speaking to Tyler for two months wasn’t clear enough.

“Obviously,” Tyler said, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t about that. Stay away from him.”

“Who? Eduardo?” Mark asked, “I didn’t know you had a thing for him.”

“I don’t,” Tyler said, glaring. “But you obviously do, and so I’m telling you right now—stay away from him.”

“Or what?” Mark asked, because he _had_ to see where this was going.

“Or you’ll regret it,” Tyler said, tragically predictably. “And so will Saverin.”

Mark narrowed his eyes, no longer amused.

“You know,” Mark said, “you live your life thinking that your money and your family and everything you do on the outside will make you seem _threatening_ and give you _power_. But the great thing about magic is that none of that _actually matters_ , and so I don’t give a shit if you’re taller than me, and a Beater, and a seventh year, and a pure-blood, because you know what you aren’t? Better than me in Transfigurations.”

Tyler stared at Mark, wide-eyed.

“I can turn you into the uninteresting and completely insignificant slug you are, Winklevoss,” Mark said evenly. “If you try to threaten Eduardo again because of your secret pure-blood club of medieval bullshit, _you’ll_ regret it, I promise you.”

With that, Mark shouldered past him, stomping the rest of the way up to the castle.

***

The party was loud and obnoxious and completely boring, but Chris was drunk, which was always hilarious, and one of the Chasers—Mark didn’t even know his name, just that he was a second year—was dancing on the table.

Eduardo was watching and laughing, his transfigured party hat almost falling off, and Mark was just. Watching him. Like a giant creep.

Eventually, Eduardo spotted him, and (to Mark’s infinite embarrassment) danced over.

“Mark,” he said, “we won! The cup!”

“I know, Wardo,” Mark said, “I was there.”

“‘Wardo’,” Eduardo repeated, before grinning. “I like it.”

“Good,” Mark said. “Me too.”

“Hey,” Eduardo asked. “Hey, I have a question.” He grabbed Mark’s shoulders.

“Wow, you’re drunk,” Mark said.

“Only a little,” Eduardo promised. “But seriously, Mark, seriously—do you still hate me?”

“I never _hated_ you,” Mark said automatically. “Just, you know. Intense dislike.”

“Do you still intense dislike me, then?” Eduardo pressed.

“No,” Mark said slowly. “But you’re still kind of an asshole.” He tilted his head. “Sort of, at least. You should stop calling Dustin a Mudblood.”

“Okay,” Eduardo agreed, surprisingly. Apparently he was a very acquiescent drunk; Mark filed this information away for further use. “Are you dating Parker?” Eduardo asked suddenly.

“What?” Mark asked.

“Parker, Sean Parker. Are you? You always… you look so _happy_ around him, like he isn’t a disgusting Gryffindor, like you _care_ about what he says, and it’s the only think that makes sense, and—”

“No,” Mark interrupted him, slightly horrified. “No, I’m not _dating_ Sean.”

“Oh,” Eduardo said, leaning into Mark’s space. His breath smelled like Firewhiskey. “Good,” he whispered.

“Wardo?” Mark asked, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

Eduardo kissed him.

Mark kissed Eduardo back.

***

They didn’t really _talk_ about it, about whether they were dating now or what had changed, but it was surprisingly fine. Mark liked Eduardo—he liked pressing him against deserted corridors and kissing him breathless, liked explaining his networking spell (tentatively called _Facium Libro_ ), even liked _arguing_ with him. They _worked_.

Sort of.

“He’s a _Gryffindor_!”

“I _need_ him!”

“More than me?”

“That’s _not fair_ ,” Mark shouted, turning around slamming his hand against the wall that lead out of the common room. It grated open far too slowly for Mark’s taste.

“Mark,” Eduardo said behind him, but Mark ignored him. “Where are you going, Mark? Are you going to go see him now?"

“It’s not really any of your business, is it?” Mark said sharply, his last parting jab before stomping out of the dungeons.

“Dustin,” Mark said, flinging himself through the Hufflepuff portal hole. “Eduardo is an _asshole_.”

“Okay,” Dustin said, not even looking up from where he was sitting by the fireplace, reading a book. “What he’d do this time?”

“He just doesn’t understand how _useful_ Sean is! He’s so blinded by prejudice and it makes me _crazy_.”

“Ah,” Dustin said, nodding. “Well, you know Gryffindors and Slytherins. It’s hard to get over that. Plus, I think Wardo’s not entirely wrong in thinking Parker has a crush on you.”

“He does not,” Mark said dismissively, sitting sulkily on the overstuffed Hufflepuff couch.

“Like how you and Wardo totally didn’t have crushes on each other, and I totally didn’t win that bet? Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Shut up,” Mark said. “He’s just so… so stupid and stubborn and he could be so much better about so many things if he wasn’t so fucking focused on pure-blood shit.”

“I don’t think you can change his mind about that stuff overnight,” Dustin said reasonably.

“He could at least admit that he’s wrong,” Mark muttered.

“Do _you_ admit when you’re wrong?” Dustin asked. Mark glared at him. “That’s what I thought.”

“He’s still an asshole,” Mark said, because that, definitely, hadn’t changed.

“Yeah,” Dustin said, agreeably, “but you like, love him and shit.”

Mark scowled, and Dustin laughed.

“Semantics,” Mark finally said.


End file.
